


Together (the knit my heart/nerves of steel remix)

by xylodemon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Time, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-29
Updated: 2007-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry isn't getting away that easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together (the knit my heart/nerves of steel remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [krabapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/krabapple/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Together](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/6394) by krabapple. 



> Written for [](http://remix_redux.livejournal.com/profile)[**remix_redux**](http://remix_redux.livejournal.com/) 2007.

_"The thing about growing up with Fred and George," said Ginny thoughtfully, "is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve."  
\-- Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_

**i.**

It was a rather loud crash, the sort of deafening, wall-rattling crash that suggested the roof was caving in, but Ginny mostly ignored it. She spared the source a brief glance and found exactly what she expected: two identical sets of arms and legs becoming two separate people inside a cloud of laughter and ash. She sighed, and straightened the pile of yarn in her lap. They had moved out almost two bloody years ago, and really, it was past time they learned that the Burrow's floo was not big enough for a double-entry.

"Good morning, Weasleys!" said Fred grandly. When his eyes landed on Ginny his smile slipped; he preferred audiences larger than one.

"Full house," murmured George, slinging a soot-dusted arm over Fred's shoulder. A sudden silence swallowed the three of them, peppered by the click of Ginny's needles. Outside, a bird chirped. "And a tough room, apparently."

Ginny waited a beat, then another, and another. Knit one, purl two. "Oh," she said, in a voice dripping with false brightness. "Good morning, boys. I didn't hear you come in."

"That's my girl," said Fred, and George snorted. "I always knew you were from our side of the family."

"That's right, insult me," she replied, as George came around to perch on the arm of the couch. "And just as I was about to save your lives."

Fred queued up behind George, resting his elbows on George's shoulders and his chin on George's head. "Oh, and how's that?"

"Mum's after you," said Ginny, in a purposely-loud whisper. "Something about last night's treacle exploding."

"We have no idea what you're talking about," said George.

"Besides," added Fred, "she should've known something was up. Have you ever known us to leave before pudding?"

"I rather don't know why you left at all," said Ginny. "You sleep here half the week, and you come home for almost every meal."

"Not our fault," said George, as Crookshanks wandered over to inspect the situation. He launched himself into George's lap with a meow, and Ginny hid her yarn behind her back before it became a toy. "Our flat smells like socks or worse, and Fred here cooks like Ron plays Quidditch."

"Says a man who can't make toast."

"Says a man who once burned water."

"I'm saying, you'd best stay away," Ginny cut in. "She wants your heads on a _plate_."

"Well, that's... delightfully medieval," said George, with an exaggerated shudder.

"How bad is it?" asked Fred, stretching an arm over George's shoulder to pet Crookshanks, who was now tucked up under George's chin. "Does she mean to pack us up in take-away cartons, or is she bent enough to use the good china?"

"Professor McGonagall took the worst of it. She's bloody furious," said Ginny.

"Who?"

"Mum?

"Or McKittens?"

"Both," said Ginny loftily. George clutched the cat to his chest like it could protect him, and Ginny smiled. Together they were three heads stacked atop each other, and they looked like one of those carved Indian poles she'd seen in Percy's old Muggle Studies book. "If you want my professional opinion--"

"--which we don't--"

"--you're both as good as dead."

"Wonderful," said Fred and, slipping back into George's lap, Crookshanks purred in agreement. "You hear that, brother mine? We're fugitives. Wanted men. There's a price on our head in two different countries."

"Bound to happen eventually," said George. "We'd best make for Ireland, then. I'll floo out tonight and find us a place to hide. You pack up the shop and meet me in a couple of days." He gathered up the cat and thrust it at Ginny. "Please take care of our son."

"George!"

"We love him dearly, but it's for the best. Life on the run is no life for a child."

"George! Stop it before" -- Crookshanks leapt, paw at the ready. He landed near Ginny's folded legs and made a play for the yarn stretching away from her needles -- "I swear, if he ruins this blanket, I'll deliver you to Mum myself!"

Fred came to the rescue; he stepped around George and shooed Crookshanks away with a pat to the rump. "Gin, Gin, Gin," he clucked. "Are you really knitting?"

"I am," snapped Ginny, hefting her needles like a pair of duelling knives. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, if you're Mum," said Fred, sinking into the space between George and Ginny that Crookshanks just vacated. He made his own play for the yarn, and Ginny stuffed it in her lap with a hiss. "Or a maiden aunt."

"You're too young to be either."

"And the last thing this house needs is another blanket."

"The last thing the _world_ needs is another orange and yellow blanket."

"Have you seen other orange and yellow blankets?"

"No, but I've seen this one, and it's more than the world needs, thanks."

"You just never mind my blanket," said Ginny. "It's not my fault it's orange and yellow; that's the only yarn Mum had."

"Ours is not to question the colour of Mum's yarn," said Fred. "Ours is to question the actual task at hand. Why, exactly, are you domesticating yourself?"

"Perhaps I need a blanket," said Ginny sharply. "It does get cold, here."

"I'm sure it does," said Fred. "Everyone knows the temperature often hits record lows in the middle of August."

"If you really need a blanket--"

"--we'll buy you one--"

"--as long as it's not orange and yellow."

"Oh, fine," she snapped. "If you must know, Mum thought it would be good for me. She said it would give me something to do."

George lifted an eyebrow. "If you're bored, there's always the war."

"Well, yes, there is that," said Ginny stiffly. And there was the war -- it was a quiet and disturbing constant -- but at this point, war was really just about waiting. It was about long stretches of nothing, and people who were tired and grumpy and unable to sleep. Everyone was slowly going mad and, with a wedding to plan and half the Order on call at any given time, the Burrow wasn't as big as it used to be. "She said it might take my mind off..."

"Harry."

"He's here, you know," Ginny said, mostly to her lap. "I don't think I'd take on so if he wasn't, but he is." She scowled at her knees, and heat began creeping across her cheeks. "And he's bloody everywhere. I can barely go to the loo without running into him. Only, he's trying to avoid me."

When no smart remark was forthcoming, she glanced up, and found her brothers exchanging one of those long, silent looks that made parents and professors more than a bit nervous. It made _her_ nervous, and she scooted away for her own safety.

"Well, if you want our professional opinion--"

"--and I don't--"

"--it's your own fault," said Fred.

"Oh, and how's that?" she asked dangerously. " _He_ chucked _me_."

"But you let him," said George.

"Sorry?"

"You allowed it," said Fred, leaning closer. "What did he say, when he chucked you?"

"Wait," George cut in. "Let me guess -- it's not you, it's me."

"It was his usual noble rot," she said, favouring George with a rude gesture. "He said it wasn't safe. He said everyone he cares about gets killed. He said he didn't want to put me at risk."

"Right," said George. "And now for the Harry to English translation -- it's not you, it's me. And the blood-thirsty maniac trying to kill me."

"Right," echoed Fred. "And if I was a betting man--"

"--which you are--"

"--I'd wager you replied with some equally noble rot of your own."

"I don't like it, but I understand it, and I'll just wait here until you sort yourself out," said George. "Any of that sound familiar?"

George leaned over Fred's shoulder until their faces were level; they now looked like a mythical, two-headed beast, and Ginny shifted uncomfortably under the double-dose of scrutiny. "Maybe."

"Well, that settles it," said Fred. "No one's fault but your own."

"And what should I have done, then?" demanded Ginny. "Told him no? Said I realise you're trying to chuck me, but I'm rather not in the mood?"

"Why not?" asked George.

"I guarantee you he gave Ron and Hermione the same drivel," said Fred. "And I also guarantee you that they told him to put it in his ear."

Ginny sighed. "You're both barmy."

"We're not barmy. We're persistent. We've never taken no for an answer in our lives--"

"--and we wouldn't be us if we had."

**ii.**

The war really was about waiting, and everyone really was going mad.

In the past few weeks, they'd all found ways to cope. Mum cooked too much, and the twins ate everything that wasn't nailed down. Hermione read. Ginny tried to knit. And every afternoon, about two hours before dinner, Harry and Ron de-gnomed the garden, whether it needed it or not.

Ron was the rub, of course. She certainly couldn't have this conversation in front of him.

She slipped her wand from her pocket, and aimed it at Ron from behind a tree. The hex was dreadfully easy and mostly harmless, and she murmured it under her breath, muffling the words with the palm of her free hand.

"Bloody Hell!" shouted Ron, dropping his gnome to jam his finger in his mouth.

"What happened?" asked Harry. He had a gnome of his own, but was wisely holding it at arm's length.

"Ugly bugger bit me," mumbled Ron.

"Let's see, then," said Harry, and Ron waved his injury in Harry's face. "You all right?"

"It's bleeding a bit," said Ron.

"Show your mum," said Harry. "I'm pants at healing spells."

"Right. I'll be back in a minute," said Ron. "And get rid of that thing," he added, pointing his wounded finger at Harry's gnome, "before you get one of your fingers bitten off."

Harry complied, tossing his gnome out toward the empty field. He dropped cross-legged to the ground, settled into a patch of shade next to the tallest rose bush, and began stabbing at the dirt with a stick. His abandoned gnome waddled mutinously toward safety, and a large, pinkish rose waited quietly by his ear.

"Harry," said Ginny, stepping out of the shadows as soon as Ron disappeared in the house. "I want to talk to you."

"Um," Harry said, looking for all the world like a cornered animal. His eyes darted around like a Pygmy Puff, landing on everything but her, and he turned his stick over in nervous, twitchy hands. "All right."

She took a deep breath and a small step forward. Her hands settled on her hips, a gesture that seemed to work wonders for her mother when she was squaring off with a ridiculous man.

"I don't accept."

Harry looked up sharply. It was a slow and heavy afternoon. Heat shimmered thickly in the air, and over Harry's head, the sun dripped into what had passed for their Quidditch pitch when it was still safe to fly.

"What?"

"I don't accept your break-up. And if I don't accept it, that means we aren't broken up. We're still going out." She kept her tone neutral, but Harry took on the same vaguely horrified look Ron got when Hermione's voice turned shrill.

"What?"

"You and I are still going out," Ginny said finally. He replied with a slow, owlish blink, and leaning down, she brushed a quick kiss on his cheek. "See you at dinner."

Ron must've found Mum straight off; as she headed for the house, she spotted him hiding behind the same tree she'd used as a shield. He gave her a flat look, which she pointedly ignored.

"Good luck with that one, mate," said Ron, a bit too loudly.

"Right," replied Harry, and she ignored that, as well.

**iii.**

The sitting room wasn't big enough for the entire family. And with Charlie's arrival that morning, the whole family was there, except Bill, who'd been banished to Diagon Alley.

"It's bad luck, you understand," said Mum, with a needle in one hand and a mouthful of pins. Fleur towered over her, perched precariously on a small ottoman. Her pale hair tumbled over shoulders like a waterfall, framed by a dress the colour of fresh snow and roughly the texture of spun sugar. "The groom simply cannot see the bride before the wedding."

"Mum," said Ron, sighing. "He's going to see her at dinner."

"Of course he will, but not in her dress," said Mum, pinning up a loose bit of silk at Fleur's waist. "Very bad luck, seeing her in her dress."

"Would you rather he see her out of her dress?"

"Fred Weasley!" said Mum shrilly, pausing long enough to favour Fred with a dangerous look. "I tell you, the men in this family have no manners at all."

And Ginny laughed, because it was true. She also thought it was fair to include Harry in that assessment. It was difficult to ignore someone you were sharing a chair with, but Harry was doing his level best. It was a soft, over-stuffed chair, too large for one person but not quite large enough for two, which put their legs in a bit of a tangle and her shoulder against his chest. His eyes had widened when she first squeezed in between his hip and the chair's arm, but since then, he'd been trying to pretend she wasn't there.

"Bill was furious, of course, when I told him he had to leave, but there was nothing for it," continued Mum. "I didn't trust him to stay out of here. Men have no head for tradition."

"Oh, my Bill," said Fleur. "Ee eez a very seelly boy, zometimes."

"Always has been," said Mum, wagging her needle like a chiding finger. "But, so was his father." She paused, smiling around her pins. "I suppose Arthur still is, really."

"I am not," said Dad gruffly.

"Of course you are, dear," said Mum, without bothering to look up. "Name every Muggle thing you've squirrelled away in that garage over the years, then try and tell me you're not at least a little silly." She paused again, and tugged on the hem of Fleur's dress. "And believe me," she added, dropping her voice to a whisper, "they don't get any wiser as they get older."

Sighing, Ginny pulled Harry's hand into her lap. His palm was warm and slightly sweaty, and his stubborn fingers needed coaxing to twist around her own.

**iv.**

"I'm not sure I understand you," said Hermione shortly.

The kitchen smelled strongly of gardenias, and Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose. She rather liked gardenias, but the thick summer heat had over-cooked the odour into something pungent, and Hermione's shrill voice was rapidly reaching a pitch that only Kneazles could hear.

"What's not to understand?" asked Ginny.

"I saw you," said Hermione, narrowing her eyes. She set her teacup aside and crossed her arms over her chest. "You were touching him!"

"And?"

"And!"

" _And_ ," snapped Ginny. "I rather don't see your point."

Hermione sighed. "Ginny, you can't... you can't" -- she made a vague, circular gesture with her hands -- "you just can't be doing that sort of thing!" She capped her last with a firm nod, as if that settled the matter.

"And why not?" asked Ginny.

"Because it's Harry."

"Exactly. It's Harry," said Ginny. "He's my boyfriend, and I'll touch him if I want to."

"Oh, honestly!"

"What?"

Hermione sighed again, and reached for her teacup, tapping a rapid, irregular beat on the rim with her first finger. "Ginny, he's not your boyfriend, any more."

"Of course he is," said Ginny.

"He asked you back, then?" Hermione's twitchy fingers moved from the teacup to the tabletop, and lifting her chin, Ginny replied with silence. "No, I'm just sure he didn't," she murmured, mostly to herself. "If he was planning to do something like that, he would've said something."

"He doesn't tell you everything," snapped Ginny.

"I'm well aware of that," said Hermione, just as waspishly, "but he tells me enough. And he certainly would've mentioned that."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Well, did he?"

It was Ginny's turn to sigh. "No. Not exactly." She paused to sip her tea, and Hermione pursed her lips. "I told him I didn't accept his break-up. Which means, he never chucked me. Which means, he is still my boyfriend."

Hermione digested that quietly, casting furtive glances at both Ginny and her tea. A snowy wall of leftover gardenias stretched between them on the table, their broken stems twisted at odd angles, brownish bruises blooming on their wilted petals. Hermione's drumming ceased, and Ginny filled the silence with more tea.

"I'm quite sure it doesn't work like that," said Hermione finally.

"Of course it does," said Ginny.

"Ginny--"

"No," said Ginny sharply.

Hermione sniffed. "You're being ridiculous and stubborn."

"Yes, and he's not."

"I know this is difficult for you, because you fancied him for so long, but he had his reasons," said Hermione.

"Rubbish reasons," replied Ginny. "I could accept it. I could, if he didn't fancy me any more. Of if he fancied someone else. But that's not it. That's not it, at all. He's simply being foolish."

"He's worried, is all."

"Foolish," insisted Ginny. "Noble and foolish."

"What does he have to say about it?" asked Hermione.

"He hasn't said much," said Ginny. "Really, he's avoiding more than usual."

"Oh, the both of you." Hermione shook her head. "You must talk to him. Otherwise, there's no point to any of this."

"I want to. I do. I just haven't had the chance," said Ginny. "This place is a madhouse. Every time I get him alone, Ron turns up. Or you, or my mum. And I'd rather have this conversation without an audience."

"Tonight," said Hermione, after a pause.

"Tonight?"

"Yes. Charlie and the twins are taking Bill out, and Fleur's staying with her parents. With that lot out of the way, it'll just be the four of us."

"And my parents," reminded Ginny.

"Yes, well. They'll go to sleep eventually."

**v.**

They were eating outside, because the entire Weasley clan -- plus Harry, Hermione, Fleur, and Fleur's parents and younger sister -- made a grand total of fifteen, which was ten more people than could fit comfortably inside the kitchen. The table had been stretched with magic, and it sagged low in the middle, weighted by enough plates, bowls, and serving dishes for the average meal at Hogwarts. The weather was well suited for it; the table was tucked in a long strip of shade cast by the Burrow, and the afternoon swelter was starting to fade, now that the sun was making a slow retreat.

Ginny was irritated.

She'd cornered Harry in the queue, but he'd managed to escape her as everyone filed outside. He was sitting across from her -- flanked by Ron and Charlie -- instead of next to her, where he belonged, and he was currently attempting to hide behind a pile of mashed potatoes. Ginny stabbed at her food, and cast a sour look to her left, at Hermione.

"Fleur will be lovely tomorrow," said Hermione. "That dress is something else."

"Oh, Fleur would be lovely in a turnip sack," muttered Ginny.

"Ginny!"

"Well, it's rather annoying," said Ginny.

She glanced up and found Harry watching her. He looked away as soon as their eyes met and stuffed a roll in his mouth, but it didn't hide the spots of colour forming on his cheeks.

"Oh, she would, and I suppose it is," said Hermione. "But that dress really is something. I always knew your mother was handy, but I never expected that."

Ginny looked at Harry again, and he was watching her again. He immediately forced his attention to Ron -- who was talking Quidditch with Fleur's father -- and Ginny speared a bit of meat with her fork.

"Men," she snapped.

Hermione's gaze darted to Ron, but made the return trip quickly. "Well, yes," she agreed, reaching for the pumpkin juice. "As if anyone cares about Quidditch with a wedding tomorrow."

Ginny shifted, stretching her tired legs. Her foot connected with something hard, and Harry jolted in his chair. His fork clattered to the table.

"You all right, mate?" asked Ron. He eyed Hermione and Ginny with a suspiciously, but abandoned it when Hermione favoured him with an extremely stony look.

"Fine," mumbled Harry, reaching for his fork. "I'm fine."

Ginny let Harry get in two more good bites before going in for the attack. She brushed her foot over his, tracing her big toe up over his ankle. Harry promptly began to choke.

"Harry!"

"Yeah," said Harry, wheezing. His face had flushed a bright red, and his eyes were starting to water. "I'm all right."

"Harry," said Charlie, with a laugh. "How many times do I have to tell you? You must take smaller bites, and you need to chew before you swallow."

"Right," grumbled Harry. "Smaller bites." He shot Ginny a cross look, which she cheerfully ignored. "Chew, then swallow."

"That's a boy," said Charlie, patting Harry's fork-hand. "Let's see you give it a try."

"Oh, Molly, theese roazt eez deelecious," said Fleur, from midway down the table.

"Why, thank you. It's a family recipe. If you're interested, I'd be happy to give it to you."

Ron snorted. "There they go, again."

"Strange," said Hermione. "I thought they didn't get on."

"They do all right," said Ginny, watching Harry out of the corner of her eye. "Mum's been easier on Fleur since that business with Fenrir. They still have their days, but most of the time--"

"--they make the rest of us sick," said Ron.

"Ronald!" said Hermione. "You are such a... you are just so... sometimes I can't believe I--"

"--Bloody Hell!"

"Harry!"

Snickering quietly, Ginny let her foot slip away from Harry's knee.

"Harry," said Hermione, very seriously. "Are you quite all right?"

"I'm fine, really," he said. His blush was threatening to become permanent. "I just felt something on my leg, is all."

"Something?" asked Ron, leaning forward to cast a funny look at Charlie.

"Wasn't me," said Charlie, holding his hands out as evidence. "Harry's rather not my type." Harry was practically purple now, and Charlie flashed him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, mate."

"Crookshanks," said Harry tightly. "I think it was Crookshanks."

"Maybe it was You-Know-Who," said Ginny sweetly.

"Ginny!"

"All right down there? You lot seem a bit jumpy."

"We're fine, Dad," said Ron. "Except Harry. He thinks You-Know-Who's hiding under his napkin."

"Ronald!"

"Sorry, Mum."

Harry froze with his knife and fork clutched in his hand and closed his eyes.

"Ginny," hissed Hermione. "Stop that."

"I haven't done anything," said Ginny, sliding her foot along the inside of Harry's thigh. "Yet."

**vi.**

"And?" demanded Ginny.

"Yes, I talked to him," said Hermione. "Rather, I talked _at_ him for the better part of twenty minutes. I swear, he doesn't listen to a thing I say."

"Of course he doesn't. He already thinks he knows everything," said Ginny. "Budge over."

Hermione closed her book, using her finger to mark the page, and shifted to make space for Ginny on the couch. "He cornered me right after dinner," she explained. "Not that I'm surprised, mind you, after your little display. Honestly, Ginny. At the table!"

"I didn't do anything," said Ginny innocently.

"Your foot was practically in his lap!"

"It really wasn't. It just looked that way, because he was squirming like a girl," said Ginny. "And never mind that. What did he say?"

"Oh, all right. Like I said, he cornered me after dinner. I don't know what he did with Ron." Hermione sighed, and shook her head. "Those two. You'd think _they_ were dating, they way they've been acting, recently."

"It's easier that way, I think," said Ginny. "If they stick together, they don't have to deal with us."

"I," said Hermione slowly, "have nothing to do with this."

"Of course you don't," said Ginny lightly. "Now, what did he say?"

"Honestly?" asked Hermione, and Ginny nodded. "He thinks you've gone off your nut. He didn't actually _say_ that," she added hastily, when Ginny's lips formed into a thin, angry line," but he said... he is..." Her book slipped out of her hand and hit the floor with a thump. "Well, he's quite rattled by the whole thing, really. He said you've been touching him."

"I have."

"He said you're acting like you never broke up."

"I am."

Hermione sighed. "And he said he needs you to leave him alone."

"Oh, he is ridiculous," said Ginny hotly. "And I will not! Because _that_ is ridiculous. I fancy him and he fancies me, and there's no reason for any of this, except his stupid, _stupid_ \--"

"--and I convinced him he should talk to you."

"Oh." She was almost surprised; she'd spent half the afternoon convincing herself he'd try to put up more of a fight. "Well, that's all right, then."

"Well, I hope so," said Hermione. "He agreed to switch rooms with me tonight, after your parents go to sleep."

"Hermione," said Ginny slowly. "That'll put you in with Ron."

"Nothing for it. It'll give you two a chance to talk, and it'll keep Ron out of your hair while you're about it."

"Hermione."

"Oh, all right," she said. "I suppose it wouldn't kill _us_ to have a chat."

"It really wouldn't."

**vii.**

Ginny stretched, the bed creaking as she pulled her arms above her head. She sighed quietly, toes curling. Arching her back brought on a slow, dull ache -- an ache caused by three hours at the kitchen table, hunched over a pile of gardenias. If not for Harry, she'd be sleeping right now. It was the perfect night for it: clear moon, bright sky, and a slight breeze through the partially open window. It was the sort of night where she could use a blanket but didn't need one, and dreams couldn't possibly become nightmares.

Bloody wedding. Bloody Harry. And bloody Hermione, who decided there was no time like midnight, even though her parents turned in at half ten.

Outside the door, the floorboards gave a soft groan, and she sat up, running a hand through her hair. Her nightdress slipped down over one shoulder, but she left it. Harry was her boyfriend. Let him see. The door brushed open with a squeak, bringing a short rush of stuffy hallway air, and Harry. _Harry_. He paused, hanging uncertainly in the shadows before picking a careful path toward the beds. He opted for Hermione's, but he was still close enough, and Ginny was suddenly nervous.

"Ginny--"

"Harry," she said sharply. "If you're here to try to break up with me, you might as well stop now." She took a quick breath to settle her stomach and lifted her chin. "I'm not breaking up with you."

He sighed. The moonlight rusted his Cannons shirt to a brown colour, and he wiped his hands on his shorts. "Ginny, look."

"No, you look, Harry Potter." Her voice was tight and clipped; her nervousness was ebbing in the face of anger. "I don't care what noble nonsense you have running about in your head, but you can just forget it."

Harry's head snapped up, and the look he gave her was pleading. "Ginny. You don't understand," Harry whispered urgently. "I have -- there are things I have to do. Things you can't be a part of."

She leaned forward and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why not?"

"Because. Because." He sounded lost. And very tired. "You just can't. I have to do them alone."

"Bollocks, Harry."

"No. It's true," he insisted. "Voldemort." The name was jarring, but she refused to acknowledge it. She refused to give Harry the satisfaction. "Voldemort is back. He's here. He's real, he's hurting people... he," -- another sigh -- "I have to kill him. Me, no one else. Me, Ginny."

"So?"

"GINNY!"

"Keep your voice down!" She slipped out of her bed and padded over to Hermione's. "Do you want us to get caught?"

"Sorry."

"Right, then," she said. Glancing over, she found him watching her warily. She sighed, and reached for his hand.

"Ginny." His eyes slid closed. "Don't."

"Don't do what?" she asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

"Don't... do that," he said. His eyes were open, now; he was studying their hands, which rested together on his knee.

She moved in, brushing her lips against his ear. "Do this?"

"Ginny," said Harry desperately. He made to yank his hand away, but Ginny held on tight.

"Harry, you've done a lot of the talking so far," said Ginny. "Now it's my turn. And no interrupting," she added, placing a finger over his lips. "Good. Now, I don't care about Voldemort." His mouth moved, but stilled when she gave his lips a firm tap. "I said, no interrupting," she reminded. He offered her a shrug, and she smiled. "I don't care about Voldemort," she said again, because he hadn't listened the first fifty times she told him, and maybe fifty-one would do the trick. "He's a stupid, evil bastard, and he deserves to die. If you have to do it, fine. That's the way it's got to be. But you're not going to do it alone. Not without people who care about you. Voldemort's already tried to hurt me once. I'd like to see him try again."

Then silence: heavy, awkward, and silvered by the moon. Finally, Harry sighed, and pulled Ginny's hand away from his mouth.

"I don't want to see him try again, Ginny," he said quietly. "That's the point."

"I know."

"Then... why?" asked Harry. "Why can't you respect that?" He slumped forward and ran a hand through his hair. "Why don't you understand that I don't want to see you hurt?"

"I understand that, Harry," said Ginny, and she wondered what was going on across the hall. She wondered if Hermione was having any more luck with Ron, because men were ridiculous, really; just ridiculous.

"No, you don't," snapped Harry. "No, you don't, or we wouldn't even be here."

His tone brought her up short, and she moved away from him, dropping his hand and hiding her own in her lap. Harry was stupid sometimes, and stubborn, and irritatingly noble, but he had never been harsh with her. Even when he let her go, he'd tried his hardest to be kind.

"Do you still fancy me, Harry?" she asked suddenly.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and studied his knees. "That's not the point."

"Of course it's the point." She took his hand again, sliding it between both of hers.

"I... I..." He looked at her, then away. Colour spread across his cheeks, greyed by the darkness. "Of course I still fancy you, Ginny. I -- I -- I more than fancy you."

Ginny smiled, and his cheek was warm against the palm of her hand. "I know."

"Then you know why I can't see you any more."

"Harry."

"He kills everyone I love, Ginny. Everyone. Dumbledore. Everyone I love dies. My mum and dad, Sirius..."

"What about Ron and Hermione?"

He hesitated. It brought a strange silence, stilted and full of guilt, and Ginny knew Fred and George and been right -- Harry had tried to get rid of them, and they'd politely ignored him.

"What about them?" he asked finally.

"You love Ron and Hermione, right? And you're going to let them help you, right?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because it is," he insisted. "Besides... I'm terrified about Ron and Hermione, too." He turned his face toward her; the moonlight glinted off his glasses, washing out his eyes, and he looked like a shadow. A ghost. "What if I can't keep Voldemort from getting to them, too?"

"Oh, Harry," she said, and she brought their faces together, her cheek sliding softly against his.

"I can't risk you, too."

"Harry, I want you to think for a minute," she said, pressing a kiss to his temple. "What would your mum have done if your dad had tried to do this with her?"

The stricken look on his face melted into a smile. "She would have told him he was mad, and probably stupid, too."

"Exactly."

"But this is different... I don't want anyone else dying for me."

Ginny laughed, her lips curving against Harry's cheek. "Harry, as much as I love you, you do overestimate your importance in the world."

"What?"

"Harry. We're all loyal to you," she explained. "Me, Ron, Hermione. Neville, Luna. Almost my entire family. But we also care that Voldemort doesn't win. The entire war isn't about you, Harry. It's also about everyone else in the Wizarding world. Maybe the Muggle one, too. It's about what's right, and what's wrong, and what we care about. I'll be fighting that war whether or not you want me to, Harry. Whether or not I'm your girlfriend. I'd rather fight it by your side, but I'll be fighting anyway. You can't stop me, Harry, no matter what."

"No matter what," echoed Harry.

"That's right, Harry James Potter," said Ginny. Men. _Really_. "And I'd rather be with you than alone."

Harry sighed -- a heavy, defeated rattle. "I'd rather be with you, too."

"Then that's settled."

She kissed him hard, because she'd wanted to for weeks. Because she'd earned it, after listening to his dreadfully noble nonsense for the last half hour. He fell into the kiss easily, with one hand on her shoulder and the other in her hair, but his mouth was careful, guarded. He seemed ready to pull away in a blink, and when her tongue flicked over his lips, they refused to part in reply.

"But, Ginny--"

"Enough, Harry." And she pushed him back on the bed, because it really was enough. _Men_. She was almost willing to bet that across the hall, Ron and Hermione were playing chess, because why have a conversation when you've been avoiding it so well for the last two years. "I'm not breaking up with you, and that's final." He moved to sit up, but she pushed him right back down, and pinned him to the bed by straddling his hips. "Now shut up and kiss me."

He smiled suddenly, and his hands fluttered up her legs, settling on her thighs. "I never had a chance, did I?"

"No. No, you didn't."

Her night dress hit the floor with a soft, delicate sound.

**viii.**

"I... I've never" -- Ginny mouthed a wet trail across Harry's jaw, and whatever he wasn't saying seemed to jumble on his tongue -- "I didn't think we'd..."

"I... it's okay, Harry." She dropped a quick kiss on his lips and pushed her hands under his shirt. "Hermione and I... we..." Her thumb grazed a nipple and his hips snapped off the bed. She could feel him, hard against her thigh, and suddenly she was the one who couldn't talk. "Potion," she managed. "I've never... but. Either. But... you."

"Together, then." His eyes were screwed shut tightly, as if he was afraid of what he'd find if he opened them. "If... if you want..."

"Together," said Ginny.

Another kiss -- slow, and a bit nervous. His hands slipped up her arms and shoulders, and then he rolled, putting her underneath him. The bed creaked and he stilled, his breaths coming short and fast, his fingers pressing into her skin. She nipped at his lips to get him moving again, and it did; he rocked forward into the kiss, his cock sliding over her hip.

"Harry," she said, and she pulled at his shirt, because if she's mostly naked, then he ought to be mostly naked, too. It came away with a struggle, catching on everything it passed -- his arms, his chin, his glasses, his hair, and once free of it, he tossed it aside with a grunt. His glasses were hopelessly skewed, balanced on just the tip of his nose, and she reached to pull them off just as he pushed them up.

"Want to be able to see you."

She smiled at that, and at the flush that spread across his skin when her hands found the waistband of his y-fronts. They went easier than his shirt, but her knickers did not; Harry snapped the elastic twice, and he got them so knotted around her ankles she had to sort them out herself. And then they were naked, but Ginny ignored the strange tingle in her belly, because it was too late for embarrassment. She let her legs fall open, and he slid forward at the invitation, leaning over her, but he froze, staring down at her with wide eyes. She smiled, and pulled one of his hands to her breast, because it was also too late to back out.

"Are we--"

"--yes," said Ginny firmly. "Yes, and now."

**ix.**

It was a rather loud crash, the sort of deafening, wall-rattling crash that suggested the roof was caving in, and Ginny sighed. They were a half-hour later than usual, but there was a wedding today, which made them over an hour late.

"Good morning, Sunshine," she said brightly. "And Sunshine."

"Not so loudly," hissed George, shooting her a look that was both sour and bleary. Dark shadows lingered under his eyes. "You'll disturb the marching band in my brain."

"You've a whole band?" asked Fred, with a slightly pinched expression. "I've only got the percussion section."

"Oh my," said Ginny, casting a bit more yarn around her needles. "Long night?"

Fred sat down on the couch and collapsed against the arm. "That would depend--"

"--entirely--"

"--on your definition of long," said Fred. "We haven't really been to sleep, so I suppose you could say it's still going."

"Too much to drink?" she asked, as George squeezed in-between Fred and Ginny and slumped into Fred, although she didn't need to. There was a receipt for a bottle of Ogden's Old written all over their faces.

"Again, that would depend--"

"--entirely--"

"--on your definition," said George. He sighed and rubbed his temples. "I would say, we had enough."

"Just enough."

"And not a hair of the dog over."

"I'm sure," said Ginny. Knit one, purl two. "It's not as if you two need an excuse to drink yourselves silly."

"Last night was a special occasion," said Fred solemnly. "There was nothing silly about it."

"Our own young Bill, and his last night of freedom," said George, as grandly as he could with his head on Fred's shoulder and his hands over his eyes. "Besides, this is the only wedding this family is like to see."

"Oh, how so?" asked Ginny.

"Well, we're just sure Charlie's gay," said Fred, "and Percy lost his only decent prospect when Crouch died."

"My other half and I are married to our work."

"And Ron is... Ron is... well, I'm not sure what Ron is."

"Hopeless? Is that the word you're looking for?"

"Indeed it is. Hopeless."

"Oh, and what about me?" asked Ginny. "Just the other day, you said I was from your side of the family. Did you have a recount, then?"

"No, you're definitely family, but -- what's that word, again, brother mine?"

"Hopeless?"

"Right. Harry is hopeless."

Ginny smiled. "You'd be surprised."

Fred and George exchanged a look, then fixed her with identical, disapproving stares. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," said Ginny idly. Knit one, purl two. "Anyway, Mum's after you."

"Again?"

"Twice," said Ginny. "Once because you're late. She also said if you didn't arrive dressed and ready" -- her eyes swept over their clothes, which amounted to Muggle jeans and the shirts they used as pajamas -- "she'd put your heads on matching pikes."

Fred shuddered. "She must stop reading those historical romance novels."

"Quite," agreed George. "They're giving her all sorts of unpleasant ideas. Next she'll build a stockade."

"She'd only need one large enough for two," said Ginny sweetly. Knit one, purl two.

"Ginny, please," said Fred, watching her needles as they clicked together. "Must you knit so loudly?"

"Must you knit?" asked George.

Ginny sighed. "Haven't we had this conversation?"

"We did, but you apparently weren't listening."

George fingered the edge of her blanket. "We're apparently due for an Ice Age."

"Well, at least this one's not orange and yellow."

"Please go away," said Ginny. "And stay away from Mum. She's already yelled herself hoarse."

"Right, we'll just have a spot of breakfast--"

"--and maybe a gallon of PepperUp--"

"--and then we'll -- _Ginny_!"

"What?"

"What's that on your neck?"

"What's what on my neck?"

"That... _that_!" said Fred, reaching out to thump her behind the ear.

"I take it you sorted things out with Harry, then," said George.

"Maybe," said Ginny, mostly to her knitting.

"Well, that settles it," said Fred. "He's dead."

"Double-dead."

"We're quite talented, you know. It'll look like an accident, and no one will ever suspect."

"Now, look here," said Ginny sharply. " _You_ said I should work things out with him. You _both_ did."

"We did," admitted George. "But we never said you should -- should -- _should_ \--"

"Ginny, are you in here?" Harry appeared in the doorway, wearing his best dress robes and a loopy smile. Someone -- probably Hermione -- had tried to make his hair lie flat; it looked like an oil slick or worse. "Oh, hey Fred, George. Ginny, you're mum's looking for you. Something about the gardenias."

"Harry," said Fred slowly. "How nice to see you." Turning, he elbowed George. "Shall we kill him?

"Of course."

"Together?"

"Together."


End file.
